


Choice and Precious Vessels

by justabrain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angels as Slaves, Emotional Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Family, Food, Gen, I promise, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kid Fic, Slavery, as in they are kids when this happens, at least in this fic in this universe, minor OC's - Freeform, technically slaves but generally treated more like a servant/maid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5213804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justabrain/pseuds/justabrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where angels wear collars to suppress their powers and are subservient to humans, a young Castiel finds himself serving a family with two young boys, Sam and Dean. He soon befriends the older of the two, yet all good things must come to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mortans

**Author's Note:**

> Title was inspired by a line in Augustine's Confessions, where he says that words are "choice and precious vessels."
> 
> Huge thanks to my friends Rachel, Carolyn, and to my very first reader!
> 
> (All characters and such belong to Supernatural and the CW and all that jazz.)

Cas stood quietly in the corner of the dining room as he waited for the two Mortan children to finish eating. Mrs. Mortan had invited a friend of hers over for dinner, forcing Jake and Brendon to eat earlier so they could make themselves scarce once company arrived. So, Cas was, as usual, stuck with the thankless task of feeding the boys dinner. As he had expected, they refused to eat the chicken caesar salad that Mrs. Mortan had told Cas to make as part of the boys’ “weight-loss program”, and instead demanded their usual: macaroni and cheese, pizza, and soda, all of which Cas reluctantly had to provide.

“Hey, Steal, did you add less cheese than normal to this? It’s gross!” Jake suddenly said, mouth full of the “gross” pizza. Cas didn’t respond.

“Hey, dumbo, didn’t you hear him? He asked you a question! What are you, deaf? Or just stupid?” Brendon chimed in.

Cas stifled a sigh. “I added the same amount as always. One half cup.”

“One half cup...?”

“One half cup, _sir_.”

“That’s better. I wouldn’t want to have to tell Daddy that you were being disrespectful. _Again_.” Cas repressed a shudder at the memory of the first, and only, time he had audibly sighed in exasperation with the boys. “Add more next time.”

“What?” Cas blinked out of his thoughts.

“Cheese, you idiot. Maybe I should tell Daddy. Disrespectful and not paying attention.”

“No!”

“What was that?”

“No, sir,thatwillnotbeneeded,” Cas rushed, desperate to avoid Mr. Mortan’s wrath.

“Good,” Brendon said, looking knowingly at his little brother, who, as he finished his plate, glanced smugly over at Cas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cas jumped as a piercing voice destroyed the relative quiet that had filled the kitchen while Cas cleaned up after the boys’ meal. “Casteel! Come here!”

Cas swallowed nervously as he dried his hands and instinctively touched his collar, a constant reminder that he would never be able to do anything without the Mortans’ knowledge. Cautiously, he stepped into the entry hall to see Mrs. Mortan greeting a young couple warmly. “Mary! It’s so good to see you again! How are you?” she gushed. “Casteel, take these people’s coats and then serve us tea in the parlor.” “

Yes, ma’am.”

“How have you two been? How are the boys? You must tell me everything...” Castiel paused as the voices, or rather Mrs. Mortan’s voice, faded. Something about that woman, Mary, had struck him as being... Unusual. Not bad, just different. Maybe it was that look she gave him when he walked in. It wasn’t made of the same disdain and superiority as most of the Mortans’ friends. It was gentler, and almost — dare he think it? — kind.

Suddenly, that piercing voice snapped him back out of his thoughts. “Casteel! Where is that tea?” Cas startled, hurried to the kitchen, where a kettle sat full of tea, and carefully carried the china into the parlor where Mary was speaking.

“John and I have actually been thinking about getting one ourselves. With John working all day and me homeschooling Dean, I need all the help I can get to get everything done around the house. What do you think, Bekka?”

“Oh, you definitely should, dear! They’re so little work to take care of. They need a little sleep, but they practically can’t starve to death, so you rarely have to feed them. We feed ours once every two days and it seems perfectly happy. Right, Casteel?” Mrs. Mortan said pointedly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cas said as he gathered up the now-empty teacups and snuck back into the kitchen, where he half-listened to the visitors’ conversation as he finished the dishes.

“It’s quite obedient, too, for the most part. But, it is a bit on the young side.”

“Yes, I noticed that. How long have you had him? How old is he?”

“Oh, it must be six months or so that we’ve had this one. I believe the man we got it from said it was about 14 years old.”

“That’s _very_ young, isn’t it, Bekka?”

“Oh, no, Mary, of course not! It’s not like they know any other life! This is what they were meant to do. They’d be miserable if they didn’t work for us. We have had a few issues with this one, though. It’s perfectly obedient with Joseph and I, but we’ve had a few issues with disrespect towards the boys. We’re actually thinking about getting rid of it.”

Cas froze, dripping plate in one hand, towel in the other. No. Life with the Mortans was certainly not fun, but at least he received food on a semi-regular basis once a week or so, had his own room and clothes, and wasn’t beaten every day. The same was not guaranteed with whoever he might be sold to. Or worse, he might be sent to a Home. Most owners took advantage of the fact that it is tough to kill an angel through starvation, but most didn’t take it to the same extreme as the Patrons who ran the Homes. Combined with beatings and being overworked, they were places of nightmare.

When Cas started listening again, the subject had changed, and a new, deeper voice was speaking. “Yes, I’m hoping that they can take over the shop someday. I know they’re still young, but I’ve been starting to show Dean the basics of how a car runs and some rudimentary repairs. He seems to have an affinity for the trade, and — ”

“Yes, well, I’m sure the boy will love working with you when he’s older, John,” Mrs. Mortan interrupted. “Oh, look at the time. It’s probably time for you two to be going, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want the boys missing you.”

“Er, well, yes, I suppose so,” Mary said. “It is quite the drive to get home and we have a busy day planned for tomorrow. We had been thinking about going to the market and looking for an angel tomorrow.”

“What a splendid idea, Mary!” Mrs. Mortan exclaimed. “Maybe Joseph and I will meet you there,” she said as she ushered the couple to the door. “Casteel! Where are you? Come give these people their coats!”

Cas quickly placed the last plate in the cabinet, closed the door, and entered the hall, where Mrs. Mortan was insisting that they must have tea again soon, since this evening had been so very splendid. He quietly opened the closet door and retrieved the two comparatively simple coats belonging to the couple, handing the leather one to the man and holding the dark blue one for the woman.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

Cas blinked, confused.

“‘ _Thank you_ ’?” Mrs. Mortan laughed. “You don’t need to thank it! You won’t thank your car for driving you home, will you?”

“Well, I suppose not, but — ”

“Then you don’t need to thank an angel! Have a safe drive home now, you two!”

Cas swallowed and hung his head as the door slammed closed, ashamed of the small spark of warmth that he had felt inside of him at those two words. Of course. Angels do not get thanked. Angels do not deserve thanks. We are only here to serve, little more than machines. Machines do not get thanked.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mrs. Mortan demanded as Cas turned to leave.

“D-downstairs to my room, ma’am. I-I finished everything you asked,” Cas stuttered.

“Did you clean the china?”

“No, ma’am, I did that yesterday when I always do it.”

“Did I ask if you cleaned it yesterday?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, then clean it today. And no food tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” This was the twelfth night in a row that he had been denied food. He had started feeling hungry days ago, but now he could feel himself starting to get slightly weak, though it did not show. But, he now took comfort in the fact that it would become difficult to sell him for a decent price if he was not fed in a few days.

Three hours and half a can of polish later, Cas sighed as he finally finished cleaning the 14 specks of dust off of the cabinet full of china. He looked at the clock. Two o’clock in the morning. That left him about three hours before he had to get up again to start making Mr. Mortan’s coffee and his vegan breakfast, then later Mrs. Mortan’s “health breakfast” for her and the boys, which the boys would, of course, refuse to eat, so Cas would have to make them waffles and chocolate chip pancakes, with all the toppings available. Then clean up, do some of the never-ending chores Mrs. Mortan found for him around the house, and then repeat the whole fiasco for lunch. Tired from just thinking about it, Cas headed down the stairs into the basement, and fell into his bed, separated from the rest of the basement by a piece of cloth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cas awoke suddenly to a bright light shining in his face and a pair of large hands grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and another pair cuffing his hands behind his back. “Wha--” A gag was shoved into his mouth and cut off his questions. Another pair of hands held down his legs that Cas’s still waking brain hadn’t even thought to kick. Another pair of hands — or was it the first pair again? — grabbed his head, exposing his neck and the ever-present collar that was too snug for comfort that sat there. Cas felt a second, still tighter, collar be snapped around his neck and, a second later, felt the first one loosen and then fall away.

“Get up,” a gruff voice demanded as the hands that held him down disappeared. Shakily, Cas stood up, still confused as to what was happening. Was he being kidnapped? Arrested? Stolen? “Up the stairs,” the same voice said. The second person stepped up the stairs ahead of them, even though Cas knew the way like the back of his hand. Cas squinted as the door to the kitchen opened and a bright light washed over the stairs. Still slightly disoriented, Cas looked to find the clock. 4:55. Cas stumbled as his — kidnapper? thief? policeman? — shoved him into the entryway, where Cas saw Mr. Mortan standing, unconcerned, his last view before a dark cloth bag was drawn over his head. Not kidnapped. Cas was fairly sure he had not broken any laws, certainly not enough to be jailed. Then what was going — Oh. Oh no. _We’re thinking about getting rid of it._ But that was only yesterday! How —

Cas’s thoughts were interrupted by a shove from behind, making him stumble towards the presumably open door.


	2. For Sale

Beaten and sore, Cas hung his head as he stood alone on the small, rickety platform. The exhaustion of only two hours of sleep in two days would have made him slump to the ground, had he not been tied to a post. Lifting his head, Cas looked out at the crowd, some of whom had come to buy, some just to gawk, only for the faces and bodies to blur together into a mass of yellows, browns, blues, reds, and grays. Finally, Cas gave up trying to make any sense of the circus around him and let it unfocus into a distant blur of colors and confusion.

Suddenly, a vaguely familiar voice cut through the fog. “Dear, remember we can only afford one angel if you want to restore that old car you bought, and we both know I desperately need help around the house.”

“Of course. Though he would be a great help around the shop.”

Cas shook his head, trying to remember where he had heard those voices before. They were not any of the Mortan family’s relatives or any of Mrs. Mortan’s friends that he could remember. The voices were too soft, too kind to be any of them. Then it hit him. The young couple Mrs. Mortan had over for tea the other day. But, no, it couldn’t be them. Who knew how far he was from home - no, from the Mortans’ home. At least a whole day of driving, he was sure. Slowly, painfully, Cas raised his head and tried to focus on their voices and find them in the swarm. Finally, he found them, leisurely making their way down the row of platforms with angels of every shape, size, and age. Currently, the couple stood in front of an frail-looking female angel two posts away, clearly a different angel than the conversation that had caught Cas’s attention.

“What about her? She looks nice,” the woman ( _was it Mary?_ ) said. Cas waited, listening for her husband’s answer, when he realized she was instead talking to a child who peeked around his mother’s skirt and took a step forward toward the elderly angel.

“Answer your mother,” the man prompted. The child looked up at the angel standing on the platform, then quickly retreated back to the safety of his mother.

“Come on, honey, you don’t need to be scared. Do you not like her?” The boy shook his head. “That’s alright. There are lots of other angels here. You might like one of them.”

Cas kept watching the family as they made their way through the crowd, slowly drawing closer and closer to the post that Cas was tied to. Would they recognize him? The child, of course, would not, but maybe Mary would?

“What're ya lookin' at? Head down! R’spect yer betters.” The harsh voice of the Trader selling him cut through Cas’s thoughts, shattering what little ability to focus that Cas still had. Obediently, Cas let his head drop towards the wooden planks below his feet as his eyes unfocused, and he stopped trying to listen through the hubbub surrounding him.

Soon, however, Cas heard Mary’s voice again, this time too close for him to ignore. “Look, John! That’s the angel the Mortans had!”

“That it is. What was his name again? Catsteel?”

“Something like that. I don’t remember for sure. Dean, come here, dear. Do you like this angel?”

Cas slowly lifted his head to see the bright green eyes of a boy of about seven. To his surprise, the boy, Dean, did not immediately run back to the safety of his mother, as he had earlier with the elderly angel. Instead, Dean kept looking at him, waiting for... what? Cas tried a small smile. Dean seemed to like that, as he smiled back, ran back to his mother, looked up at her, and nodded. Cas looked up at Mary as she nodded at her husband, who then turned to the man standing behind Cas.

“How much?”

“Very cheap, only 120. With its parentage, a good bargain if ya ask me.”

Cas glanced hopefully at his potential-buyer, who turned back towards Mary. After a few whispered words, he addressed the Trader. “We’ll take him.”

“Very good, Mr. — ?”

“Winchester.”

“Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, you’ll be very happy with this angel. It’s a very good investment.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cas startled awake as the car engine shut off. The last thing he remembered was Mrs. Winchester protesting as yet another black hood was yanked over his head, saying that it was unnecessary. Of course, the Traders always got their way, and they unceremoniously tossed Cas into the back seat of a strange car and stuck him with a needle that promptly knocked him out cold.

Anxiously, Cas sat waiting for some sort of assistance in exiting the car. Did they expect him to get out on his own? To sit and wait for an hour? Were they even at the Winchesters’ house? What if they were not keeping him? What if they were giving him away to someone else? What if they had changed their mind and were dropping him at a Home?

A door opened next to Cas’s ear, snapping him out of his worries. “Come on, you. We’re home,” the gentle voice of Mrs. Winchester said. A hand softly grabbed his arm, helping him out of the car. “John, can we take off this silly hood now? I mean, what’s going to happen? He sees the neighborhood? He’ll see that anyway.”

“Just — wait until we’re inside. That’s what the Traders said. They must have some good reason.”

Mrs. Winchester sighed and Cas heard a lock click. “Watch out, there’s a step up into the house right here. And go to the left... Sit... Good.”

Cas once again sat waiting. How long would it be this time?  Suddenly, the bag over his head started to lift, and Cas found himself squinting at a smiling Mrs. Winchester who was now holding the bag that had been over his head. Then, to Cas’s surprise, he heard the ever-present collar click. Were they taking it off? What was happening? Were they setting him free? What would he do—

A smaller, lighter collar settled into place gently around his neck, and an inexplicable weight seemed to settle back into Cas’s stomach. He reached up and touched it, grateful that this new family was going to keep it looser than the Mortans did. He would no longer feel like he was constantly being half-choked.

“Now, what’s your name?” Mrs. Winchester asked. _What’s my name?_ Did the Traders not tell them that? “I mean, what do you want us to call you?”

Cas hesitated. His full angelic name would be much too difficult for them to say, not to mention impractical. “C-Castiel? Ma’am.” Cas swallowed. Would that be alright?

“Cast- _ee_ -el?” Mrs. Winchester repeated.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Castiel. That’s not what Mrs. Mortan called you. How long has she been pronouncing your name wrong?”

Cas shrugged. Never speak ill of your masters, past or present, even if they had never called you by your correct name. That is not to say they did not have things to call him. Steal. Dooface. Eel. Stupid. Casteel. Idiot. All sorts of variations on his name and all sorts of, well, names. But never _his_ name.

“I’m sorry." Mrs. Winchester suddenly looked around. "Dean! Where did you go?" The boy stuck his head back around the corner. "Here, mommy!"

"Dean, this is Castiel. He's our new angel."

"Hi, Cas!"

"Hello, Dean."

"Okay, you can go play now. Here, let’s show you around.” Mrs. Winchester looked over the back of the couch. “Sam, would you like to show Castiel our house?”

“Ok, mommy!” A small bundle of energy bounced around the corner of the couch Mrs. Winchester sat on. “This is the parlor. This is where the adults talk. That’s mommy’s plates. We don’t touch those. This is the kitchen...”


	3. Apple Pie

It had been less than a week since he joined the Winchesters, and yet to Cas, it already felt like home. His jobs were no different from when the Mortans owned him, and yet this felt different. Or maybe it was not his duties that felt different, it was _him_ that felt different. He had more energy. He felt more alive, more... something.

First thing in the morning, every morning, Cas wakes up and prepares coffee with two small scoops of sugar, two hard boiled eggs, toast, and the morning newspaper for Mr. Winchester. Soon after he leaves for work, Mrs. Winchester helps Sam get ready for the day, while Dean gets up on his own. Sometimes Cas makes pancakes, other times waffles, or french toast, or eggs and toast, always with a side of bacon or sausage. Along with her breakfast, Mrs. Winchester drinks coffee with one cream, and the boys have milk or orange juice, or “OJ” as they called it. For the rest of the morning, the activities vary. During the school year, the mornings are usually reserved for Dean’s schoolwork and lessons, and Sam either goes off to preschool, or he plays by himself or with the neighbors.

At noon, lunch is almost always sandwiches. Sam has one slice of bread folded in half with peanut butter and banana if he has been good, and Dean has a full peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut diagonally with no crusts. Sometimes the rest of the afternoons are taken up by outings, and other times by shopping. Cas rarely goes on the outings that are just for fun, but he almost always helps with the shopping, often by keeping an eye on the boys and keeping them out of trouble.

Just after five o’clock, Cas, Mrs. Winchester, and the boys are back home, and Cas starts preparing dinner. By six, Mr. Winchester has returned home, and dinner is served. After the meal, the boys spend some time playing with their father, while Cas cleans up and Mrs. Winchester has some time alone. Three hours later, the boys have had a snack and a bedtime story and are asleep in bed. Soon after, the rest of the family follows suit, and Cas is left with any remaining tasks, or, not knowing what else to do, he goes to bed. 

And that was how the days went, every day, until one afternoon Mrs. Winchester had a request.

“Castiel?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you know how to make a pie?”

A pie? “No, ma’am. At least, I have never tried. I suppose it would not be difficult.”

“No, it’s not too hard,” she mused. “Here, I found this recipe for an apple pie that looks delicious. I’ve been meaning to try it.” She handed Cas a piece of paper. “Why don’t you give it a go? I’m fairly sure we have all of the ingredients.”

As he walked back into the kitchen, he glanced at the scribbles on the page. Although it was not technically illegal, it was very unusual for owners to teach their angels how to read. Unsurprisingly, the Mortans had not felt the need to have a literate angel. Then again, Cas had never had a reason to want to read before now, so he had never asked. Not that he would have been brave enough to ask. To his knowledge, an angel had never dared ask to be taught how to read. It might not be illegal by law, but it was extraordinarily difficult to sell a literate angel. The owners feared — well, something.

Now, how to make an apple pie? Crust first. Some flour? And some eggs and milk? Or would it just have water? And a touch of sugar to make it taste good. That looks alright. Now, put it in the pie tin; flatten it out. Now for the filling. How many apples? Four should be enough. No skin. Maybe mash one of them up to make it fill the pie better. It’ll be softer if it’s boiled. Add some sugar and --

“Castiel? What on earth are you doing?”

Cas froze. “I... uh...”

“I don’t know what you were doing, but that is not a pie that you are making there,” Mrs. Winchester said. “You’ve made a mess! I had hoped you would be more responsible and keep the kitchen at least looking semi presentable. And look at this crust! I would _not_ want to eat that. _Milk?_ What on earth were you thinking? Did you even look at the recipe?” She sighed, frustrated. “We’re going to have to do something about this...”

No. N—no please no. After everything with the Mortans and — and now this wonderful family and they are so kind and not at all like before and no he could never go to a Home and what if — no no no please no anything but —

“… can’t just go off and completely ignore what I asked you to make! I’m severely disappointed, Castiel. I’ll have to talk to John about this when he comes home…”

That’s when Cas realized that nothing had changed. Not really. Different house, maybe, and different faces, but they were all the same underneath. Just like the Mortans, they didn’t _actually_ care. They put on a façade of caring, a performance, when others could see, or when they wanted him to do something, but that is all it was. He had been an idiot to think that this family would be any different.

Then Cas realized Mrs. Winchester had stopped talking and was looking at him strangely. “You can’t read, can you.” A statement, not a question. Cas looked down at his flour-covered hands and quickly shook his head. Mrs. Winchester reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let’s fix that.”

Confused and startled at the touch, Cas looked up. “Fix...?”

“Yes. You are going to learn how to read. I’ll teach you. Actually,” she said, reconsidering, “No, Dean will teach you. He doesn’t like reading very much, so this might help him as well as you.”

“Teach me...” Cas trailed off, still wrapping his head around the idea. Read? _Him?_

“Of course. You’ll be able to help much more if you can read,” she said. “We can get started today, even. Follow me,” Mrs. Winchester instructed as she entered the dining room, where Dean sat. “Dean?”

“Yes, mommy?” he replied, still looking at the papers spread in front of him.

“You’re going to teach Castiel how to read.”

“Ok.” Dean looked up. “Wait, what?”

“Castiel can’t read, so you’re going to teach him.”

“Oh. Ok,” Dean said, looking back down at the table.

Determinedly, Mrs. Winchester started gathering up his papers. “ _Now_ , Dean.” Papers in tow, she walked over to a cabinet, and, bending over a drawer filled with books, soon found a thin, brightly colored booklet with shapes and other scribbles on it. “Use this. I had planned on using it to teach Sammy how to read in a few years, but in the meantime, you may use it.”

“But mommy –”

“No ‘but’s. Castiel, sit. Dean, start with letters. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Dean sighed. “This is _A_ ,” he said, pointing at one of the scribbles. “And this is also A.” He pointed at a different scribble. “This one is uppercase...” He pointed at the first scribble again, and then at the second. “...and this is lowercase. This is _B_...”

 


	4. Dinnertime

Cas’s lessons with Dean became regular occurrences. Every morning, Mrs. Winchester would pull out the booklet, and Cas would join Dean at the dining room table. After only a few lessons, Cas had mastered both printed and cursive letters, so the two moved on to simple books, then harder ones.

Before long, Cas found himself able to read most of the half dozen cookbooks that Mrs. Winchester kept on the kitchen counter. So, one afternoon, he decided to surprise her.

“Castiel, we’re going to go to the park for an hour. When we get back, I would like the floors mopped.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dean! Come on, honey!”

“Yes, mommy!”

As soon as she had rounded up the boys and they were out the door, Cas got to work. He knew that if he hurried, mopping the floors would only take about half an hour, which left just enough time for his surprise.

Quickly, Cas got out a bowl...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cas had just finished putting the cleaning supplies away, when he heard the door open and Mrs. Winchester’s voice say, “What is that smell? Castiel?”

Slightly embarrassed, Cas walked into the dining room to meet her, holding the source of the smell.

“Castiel, what on earth–” She broke off into a smile. “Apple pie. Of course. Thank you, Castiel.”

“Pie?! Can we have some now, mommy? Ple-ase?” Dean said.

“No, I think we’ll wait until after dinner. How does that sound?”

“Ok!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening started much like any other, with Cas in the kitchen cleaning up while Sam and Dean, but mostly Dean, told Mr. Winchester about what they did that day.

“Mommy and Sammy and me went to the park!” Dean said. “I liked the merry-go-round best.”

“Really? And what was your favorite, Sam?”

“I like swing!”

“And what else did you do today?”

“We came home and Cas made pie! But it was apple, not pecan. I wanted pecan. Oh! I showed Cas how to read colors! He said his favorite is green and I said mine is blue. And then he told a funny story.”

A smile twitched at the edges of Cas's mouth at the memory. Dean had asked him if he had ever been to the park, so Cas told him about one time that Mrs. Mortan had told him to take her children to the playground. The older of the two had tried to sit in the baby swing despite Cas’s warnings, and he got stuck, resulting in the fire department being called to cut the swing off of him. Cas had not thought it was particularly funny, but when Dean laughed, that almost-familiar feeling of warmth appeared again.

Dean continued with his synopsis of his day. “Then Mommy made me pick up my toys and you came home!”

Mr. Winchester smiled. “That’s very interesting, Dean! What was your favorite part of the day?”

“When Cas made pie! Daddy, why doesn’t Cas eat dinner with us?”

Cas’s hand slipped, and he almost dropped the plate he held.

“Um... Well, Cas is only an angel. Of course he doesn’t eat with us,” Mr. Winchester said with a small laugh.

“Oh.” Dean paused. “What about playtime? I never see Cas playing. Is that because he’s an angel, too?”

“Yes, Dean. Angels are only here to serve us. Cas isn’t here to have fun, but he’s okay with that, because angels don’t _have_ fun. They can’t. Just like they can’t get sad or happy or anything else. They don’t have feelings like you and I do. So don’t worry about if Cas gets to have fun, okay?”

“Okay.”

Cas took a deep breath and, to his surprise, found that it was a bit shaky. _What is wrong with you? He did not say anything you did not already know._ Cas shook his head to clear his thoughts. What was next on his to-do list?


	5. Storytime

A few days had passed since Dean had questioned his father. A few more reading lessons, a few more shopping trips, a few more adventures of putting the boys to bed. All had proceeded as normal, until Cas heard a conversation in the neighboring room...

“Mommy? Can Cas tell me the story tonight?”

“I–” She hesitated. “Well, I don’t see why not. Why don’t you find him and ask him?”

Slightly panicked, Cas looked around the room to find something to busy himself with before the boy came in.

“Cas?” Dean said as he entered the room. “What're you doing?” Cas looked down at the pillow he was holding and wondered the same thing. He shrugged. Dean laughed. “Can you tell me a story tonight?”

“Your parents usually tell you a story. Can they not do that again tonight?”

“But I want you to!”

Cas scrambled for an excuse. “I do not know any good stories.”

“What about that one you told me about the swings?”

“You already know that one. Why would you want me to tell it again?”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t have to be that one. But you can tell me another story about them!” Cas tried desperately to think of a good excuse. “Please?”

Cas sighed to himself. “Alright. I will just –”

Dean cut him off. “Yay!” Suddenly, he ran the rest of the way across the room and threw his arms around Cas. “Thank you, Cas!” he cried. And with that, he ran upstairs to his mother.

Cas stood in shock and stared after Dean. _Did he–_ Cas shook his head. The boy meant nothing by it. It was just an expression of his excitement that he would have a different story tonight. Nothing more.

A head of dirty brown hair peeked around the corner. “Hey, Cas, you coming?”

“Yes, of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, how to tell a story? Every story that Cas had overheard had started, “Once upon a time, there lived a boy.”

“What was his name?” Dean asked eagerly.

Name? Cas thought for a moment. “Dean. His name was Dean. And Dean had a brother, Sam. Sam and Dean lived together and...” What on earth would keep Dean’s interest? “... and fought monsters.”

“Whoa! Where did they live?”

“They always travelled to wherever the monsters were, so they did not have a permanent home like you do.”

“What about their mommy and daddy?”

What about them? Fewer characters is better. “They are dead.”

“Oh.” Dean paused and his smile shrunk. “What monsters did they kill?”

“Well, one day, Dean and Sam heard about some people who had gone missing in a forest, so they went to see what it was. When they entered the forest, they saw the family of one of the missing people about to go out to look for them. Dean and Sam tried to warn them that it might be very dangerous, but they were adamant about going.”

“Cas, what’s add-a-mint?”

“It means determined. Soon, they were near where the missing people had camped. Suddenly, Sam noticed that all the birds had stopped making noise.

“‘What creature does that?’ Sam asked Dean.

“‘I do not know. Maybe dad’s monster journal will tell us!’ Dean said. Their dad hunted monsters, as well. Then, they found the campsite. The tent was in shreds and all the supplies were destroyed, but there were no bodies. Soon, Dean and Sam figured out that they were hunting a...” Cas paused. What should he call this made-up creature? Suddenly inspiration hit him in the form of a mess of letter magnets. “... a WENDIGO.”

“What’s a wendigo? Does it eat people?”

“Yes. It is created when someone eats other people. They only wake up every 7 years, and the rest of the time, it lives in... a cave. Dean and Sam read all this in their father’s hunting journal. So, they decided to find the cave where it lived and kill it. They searched for hours, but could not find a cave anywhere. But, then they stumbled upon an old, abandoned mineshaft. They went in and found one of the missing campers still alive. But suddenly, the wendigo came back. Dean and Sam split up. Dean helped the rest of the people to safety, and Sam stayed back to distract and fight the creature.”

“Aww...” Dean said. “Why can’t I stay and fight?”

“It is not _you_ fighting, it is a character _named_ Dean. Anyway, Sam helped the people to safety and Dean stayed to fight.”

“Yay!”

“Suddenly the wendigo came around the corner, startling Dean. Dean started shooting at it, but that only made it angry, because it could only be killed...” Cas paused to think.

“Fire!”

Why not? “... could only be killed with fire. Dean remembered this and quickly lit a flare and threw it at the wendigo, which caught fire and died. The end.”

“You’re a good storyteller, Cas,” Dean said. He yawned. “What’s the thing around your neck for?” he asked sleepily.

Cas blinked, caught off guard. “It is a collar. Every angel has one. It tracks what we are doing and makes sure we do not run away.”

“Have you ever tried to run away?”

“No.”

“Have you wanted to?”

“No.” And he was not entirely lying. He had never wanted to because the thought was too absurd to have ever crossed his mind. It was nearly impossible to run away in the first place, much less hide from authorities. And when they did catch you... Cas repressed a shudder.

“Okay, good. I don’t want you to leave,” Dean mumbled as he dozed off.

“Me neither,” Cas whispered to the sleeping boy.


	6. Life Goes On

Slowly the year passed...

"Cas! Look what I got!" Dean exclaimed as he waved a piece of paper in front of the angel's face.

Cas took a step back from the ball of energy and the cabinet. "Be careful," he said. "Your mother would be very unhappy if her china broke. What is it?" Cas tried to get a good look at the paper, but it was moving too quickly.

"Mommy gave it to me! It's an award for perfect attendance!" Finally Dean stopped waving the paper around, and sure enough, in fancy gold script it read "This award is presented to Dean Winchester for being present every day at school this year", with Mrs. Winchester's signature at the bottom in the line marked "Teacher" and her husband's in the line for the principal.

"Congratulations, Dean." Cas smiled, and Dean ran off into the next room.

"Hey Sammy!" Cas heard the boy exclaim. "Lookit this!"

\---

Cas glanced at the horizon and the setting sun as he finished cleaning up the remains of the Winchesters’ picnic. He looked at Sam, who was busy digging in the dirt nearby with a stick, while his parents socialized with the neighbors. “It is getting late,” he said to the boy. “You will have to go to bed soon.”

Sam looked up from his dent in the ground and dropped his stick. “No! I don’ wanna!”

“Sam...”

“ _No_!”

Cas sighed and looked up to see Mrs. Winchester walking towards them. “Is there a problem, Castiel?”

“I noticed that the sun was going down, so I told Sam that he would have to go to bed soon.”

Mrs. Winchester smiled. “Thank you, Castiel. Yes, normally he would, but tonight he gets to stay up to watch the fireworks for the Fourth.”

Cas cocked his head. “The...fireworks?”

Her eyes widened. “Have you never...?” She shook her head. “You poor thing. How have you never seen fireworks?” As Cas opened his mouth to answer, she waved her hand. “Nevermind, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’ll see some tonight as soon as it gets dark."

About an hour later, Cas nearly dropped the cup of water he was holding when a deafening boom sounded through the neighborhood. “Mommy!” Dean cried as he ran to his parents. “It’s starting! Can we go sit down?”

“Of course!” she said as she closed the picnic basket and handed it to Cas. Soon, Cas and the Winchesters were seated on a blanket on the grass in the middle of the neighborhood. Another boom filled the air, this time followed by impressed oo’s and ah’s. Cas glanced up at the sky where everyone else was staring and saw a few small sparks sputtering out as they fell to the ground. _That's it?_ Cas thought as he sat on the ground next to Dean.

Suddenly the sky above them exploded in a burst of color and noise, and Cas gasped. He felt Dean elbow him, and he looked over and saw Dean grinning at him. “That one’s my favorite!”

Cas nodded. It reminded him of the stories he had heard of the angels falling. Sighing, he leaned back and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.

\---

"I don' wanna go-o-o!" Dean sobbed as Mrs. Winchester tried to force him into a jacket. "I wanna stay here and play with Cas!"

"No. Cas is staying here, and you are going to school."

"Why can't Cas come, too? Please?" Dean pleaded through his tears.

"No. We've already gone over this. Cas is an angel. He does not go to school. Now, stop crying. You're in the third grade. None of the other boys are crying about going to school, are they?"

"No..." Dean sniffled.

"Exactly," she said as she held out his backpack. “Now hurry, the bus will be here soon.”

\---

A flash of white light. A second later, a loud rumble, like a series of distant cannons. Cas sighed to himself. It would take more than one sleepless night to affect his work tomorrow, but Cas liked the feeling of being asleep. It was calm, peaceful. Normally thunderstorms didn't keep him up, but there was something... different about this one. He listened. The rest of the family was asleep. Wait–that wasn't quite true. There was someone... Dean.

Cas slowly got up, walked over to Dean's room, and knocked softly on the door. "Dean?"

"Cas? That you?" As an answer, Cas opened the door and walked in. "Thunderstorm keeping you up, too, huh?" Dean asked a bit sheepishly.

Cas smiled. “Does it scare you?” Dean nodded. “You do not need to be scared. It cannot hurt you.”

“Yeah, I know...”

Deciding that he had effectively comforted Dean, Cas moved toward the door. “Then goodnight, Dean.”

“Wait!” Cas turned back. “Could you... Could you stay here? Just for a little bit?” Cas nodded and closed the door again. “Wanna sit on the chair, Cas?” Dean asked. “Then you won’t get tired standing there.”

“I won’t get tired,” Cas said. Then he noticed Dean’s fallen face. “Maybe... I am starting to feel tired.” He walked over to the armchair in the corner of the room and sat gently in the middle of it. Dean smiled.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“What’s heaven like?”

Cas blinked, completely taken off guard. _Heaven?!_ “Uh... Well, I have never been there.”

“But you’re an angel! Don’t angels live in heaven?”

“We used to,” Cas said sadly. “I have been told it is very beautiful. And peaceful.”

“No thunderstorms?”

“No thunderstorms.”

Dean sighed, happy with the answer he was given. Soon, Cas heard Dean's breathing slow and even. Slowly, Cas stood up from the creaky chair. Dean didn't stir, so Cas went back to his room and promptly fell asleep.

\---

Cas stood quietly in the corner of the dining room while the Winchesters gathered around the table full of their Thanksgiving dinner. “Dean, wait just a minute,” Mrs. Winchester said as the boy reached for the turkey. “Before we start eating, I want each of us to say three things we’re thankful for. I’ll go first. I’m thankful that we’re all healthy, that your Daddy has a job, and for our house. Dean, why don’t you go next?”

“Ok... I’m thankful for Mommy and Daddy, Sammy, and, uh... I’m really thankful for Cas! He’s my best friend!” Dean said with a huge grin.

“Oh.” Mr. Winchester looked across the table at his wife, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s...” He cleared his throat. “That’s great, Dean. You remember he is just an angel, right?”

Dean sighed. “Yeah...”

“Good,” Mr. Winchester said. “Now, Sam? What are you thankful for?”

\---

“Mommy!” Dean said as he raced into the kitchen where Cas was standing by the stove. “Oh, hi, Cas! Have you seen Mommy?”

“Yes, I think she is in the parlor with Sam.”

“Ok!” Dean skipped into the next room where Mrs. Winchester was helping Sam with a puzzle. “Mommy, I have a question.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can I get Cas a Christmas present?” He tried to whisper, but his excitement got the better of him and the question was asked loud enough for Cas to easily hear it over the boiling spaghetti.

Mrs. Winchester didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes,” she decided.

Dean threw his arms around his mother’s neck. “Thank you!” he exclaimed.

“ _But_ ,” she said as she pried his arms away so she could breath again, “you can’t spend any money.”

“Can I draw him a picture?”

“Yes.”

“Yay!” Dean passed back through the kitchen on his way upstairs and then paused. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Your favorite color still green?”

“I...” Cas thought for a moment. “Yes.”

“Ok!” With one last grin at Cas, Dean ran up the stairs to start working on his present.

\---

Cas looked proudly at the newly frosted cake sitting on the counter. Nine toy cars, each carrying a candle, sat on the road of black and yellow frosting that circled the top. He resisted the urge to stick his finger in the leftover icing and taste it, knowing Mr. Winchester would never approve. Instead, he stuck a lid over the cake and the bowl in the sink to rinse it out.

“Ca-as! We’re home!” Dean’s voice rang through the house.

Quickly, Cas reached for a clean towel to toss over his present for Dean that was sitting on the counter cooling. He spun around as Dean bounced into the kitchen.

“Ooooh is that my cake? Lemme see!” he exclaimed.

“I do not think your mother wants you to see it and spoil the surprise.” He saw Dean eyeing the object covered on the counter. “And _that_ is your present.”

Dean reluctantly pulled his hand away. “Aw...”

“Come on, Dean,” Mrs. Winchester said as she entered and tried to shoo the boy away from the surprise. “Your guests are going to be here soon and you need to make sure everything’s ready.”

“Oh yeah!”

An hour later, nine boys were crowded around the dining room table, waiting eagerly for Dean to blow out his birthday candles. “Make a wish!”

“Ok, I wish that--”

“No! You can’t tell anyone or it won’t come true!” one of the other boys interjected.

“Oh.” Dean looked to his mother. “Can I blow them out now?”

She smiled. “Of course, sweetie.”

And with a big smile and a big breath, Dean blew out all nine candles. Soon after Mrs. Winchester had cut and distributed the cake, Cas emerged from where he had been watching in the kitchen. “Hi, Cas!” Dean waved. “Want some cake? Oh, can I see my present now?” he asked, noticing the covered object in Cas’s hands. With a small smile, Cas placed it on the table and lifted the cloth. “Pie!” Dean exclaimed. “Is it apple?”

Cas’s smile grew. “Of course!”

Eagerly Dean turned towards his mother. “Can we have some now? _Ple-ase_?”

“Just this once on your birthday.” This proclamation was greeted by a chorus of cheers.

Hours later, the door closed behind the last of Dean’s friends, and Dean wandered into the kitchen where Cas was just starting to prepare dinner. “Hey, Cas, can I tell you something?”

Cas looked up from the cookbook sitting on the counter. “Of course.”

“When I blew out my candles I wished that you would stay with us forever.”

“I thought that telling the wish made it not come true?” Cas asked, suppressing a smile.

Dean grinned. “The first person doesn’t count.”

\---

February. One year with the Winchesters and Cas had nearly forgotten any other life. Only the occasional nightmare reminded him of how good he had it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, Kimberly writing fluff?! Never...


	7. OJ

“Morning, Cas!” Dean said as he bounded down the stairs and through the kitchen, where Cas was making pancakes.

“Good morning, Dea--” Cas paused. Something was off about Dean. Cas looked at him carefully. Hair, clothes, smile, all normal. Cas shook his head and turned back to the pancakes on the griddle. It must have been his imagination. Soon, Mrs. Winchester and Sam had joined Dean at the table, ready for breakfast, so Cas carried the pancakes out. But, when he passed Dean, something again caught Cas off guard and he dropped the plate. There it was, that… something didn’t feel quite right. _Gabriel?_

“Castiel! What’s wrong? Who’s Gabriel?” Mrs. Winchester asked, alarmed.

_Did I say that aloud?_  “Uh… Nobody. I am very sorry, ma’am. I will clean that up right away.”

“You can clean it up later. First, breakfast. Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need to see a doctor?”

What doctor would see an _angel_? “I am fine.”

“If you say so. And I thought I asked you to not call me ‘ma’am’?”

“Yes, of course, ma—Mrs. Winchester,” Cas stammered, still shaken as he made his way back into the kitchen. What was going on? Cas passed Dean again and noticed that same… smell. Yes, that’s what it was, some sort of smell. But what was that? It almost smelled like… No, that could not be right. Dean must have just used a different soap than normal.

“Mommy, may I be excused to the bathroom?” Dean asked.

“Didn’t you go when you got up, honey?”

“Yeah, but I need to go again.”

“Alright. But come back right away and finish your breakfast.”

“Ok!” Dean said as he skipped off down the hall. A few minutes later, he returned, nervously walked up to his mother, and whispered in her ear. “Mommy, my poop was really runny. Is that ok?”

Mrs. Winchester glanced at Dean. “Yes, that’s ok,” she said with a small smile. “Just tell me if it happens again, alright, sweetheart?”

Dean smiled and nodded as he hopped back onto his chair. “Cas? Can I have more OJ?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**  
** The next 24 hours passed in a blur: Cas finding Dean unconscious on the couch a few hours later. Mrs. Winchester calling 9-1-1, panicked. _Yes, he’s breathing. No, he’s not allergic to anything. No, I don’t know what it might be, but my angel says it’s cholera, but it can’t be cholera, that hasn’t been around since…_ Mrs. Winchester calling her husband at the garage. The paramedics arriving and Sam being thrust into Cas’s arms. _Is Dee going away? Yes, Dean is going to the hospital. How long? When will Dee be back? I do not know._ Mrs. Winchester pleading with the paramedics to _please let me stay with him_ , but _no, we’re very sorry_. Mr. Winchester arriving at home. _What happened? I don’t know. Castiel, he found Dean unconscious, and– Castiel, what did you do to him?! Nothing, sir_. Mr. Winchester not believing him and taking Cas into the garage. Mrs. Winchester following a few minutes later, begging him to stop and _can we please go to the hospital and see if Dean is awake?_ Both parents leaving Cas to take care of Sam and himself. _Cas? Why is your back red? Is that blood? Yes. What happened? I was... bad._


	8. Cleaning

Bleary eyed, Cas raised his head at the sound of keys at the front door. Mr and Mrs Winchester had been at the hospital for... How long had it been? He glanced at the clock. Almost twelve hours. Cas stood up as Mrs. Winchester came around the corner.

"Is Dean alright?"

Mrs. Winchester looked at him tiredly. "No. They said -- they said it's cholera. He's still in the ICU. They--" Her voice caught. "They don't know that he'll make it." She took a shaky breath. "I'm here to get Sam. In case he has to say goodbye. Will you go get him please?"

"Has Dean woken up?"

" _Castiel!_ Do as you are told," she snapped.

Cas flinched and hung his head. "Yes, ma'am." It was not often that she lost her temper, but when she did, it was best not to stand in her way. Quickly, he went upstairs.

"Sam, wake up. Do you want to see Dean?"

"Mhmm... Is Dee back? Is he okay?"

"He is still at the hospital. Your mother is home and will take you to see him."

"Is Dee gonna be okay?"

Cas stayed quiet. "You do not have to get dressed. Hurry, your mother is waiting."

"Aren't you gonna come?"

"No." _This is my fault. They will never let me visit._

"Oh. I'll say hi to Dee for you!"

Soon, the two were gone and to house was once again silent. Cas looked around at the already nearly spotless house. _If Dean were here_ \-- No. Thoughts like those are pointless. _This is my fault and nothing will change that. I should have known, I should have said something, I should have..._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hi, Cas! We're home!" Sam's cheery voice cut through the nearly three-day-old silence. "It's okay, Dee's all better now!"

Cas looked up from the china that he was polishing. Again. "Sam. Where is -- ?"

The door opened again to reveal Mrs. Winchester carrying an IV bag and other medicine. Finally, slowly, Mr. Winchester helped Dean across the doorway. Exhausted after his trip from the driveway to the house, Dean collapsed onto the couch. Cas glanced at him, but quickly looked away ashamed.

"Dean, I am --"

"Hey, Cas. Thanks for keeping the house clean for me," Dean said with a small smile on his face as he noticed Cas cleaning the spotless dishes.

Cas looked at the rag in his hand, embarrassed. "I am sorry. I will just…"

"Castiel," Mrs. Winchester interrupted, "help me get Dean upstairs. He needs to rest; it's been a long day. Grab that bag, will you?"

Minutes later, Dean was safely upstairs, tucked into bed. Mrs. Winchester soon left, leaving Cas and Dean alone. "Cas, I know you're going to try to apologize. Don't. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known this was going to happen." Dean sighed.

"What is it, Dean?"

"Nothing, I just... Nothing. I'm tired, that's all."

"Ok. Goodnight, Dean."

"Oh, wait! I made something for you! I think it's in the bag." Curious, Cas walked over to the bag from the hospital and looked inside to see a piece of paper with crayon in it. "Do you like it?"

"I... Yes?" he said cautiously, unsure of what he was looking at.

"It's me and you! I missed you so I made that for you."

"Oh. Thank you, Dean. Goodnight."

"G'night, Cas."

With one last glance at the boy, Cas quietly closed the door. He started down the stairs to put away the cloth he had been using to polish the china, when he heard Mr. Winchester speaking in a low voice.

"We were already pressed for money before this, and you know that, Mary. If anything more happens, we might not be able to pay the mortgage again, and you know we can't afford that." He paused while Mrs. Winchester said something. "I know, I know. All I'm saying is that if my hours get cut any more, we might not be able to keep him around."

"But Dean is so attached to him. It would be devastating for him and might make him go back to how he was before, not to mention set back his recovery from the hospital for who knows how long."

"I swear, I don't like it any more than you do. But when it comes down to either feeding an angel – because that's what he is, no matter how attached Dean might get to him – feeding an angel or paying the bills and buying food for this family... I should hope it's clear which one I'll chose."

There was silence for a moment, then Mrs. Winchester said something softly, and  Cas heard the chairs scraping on the floor. Quickly, Cas tried to occupy himself.

"Castiel! What are you doing standing out here?"

"I... Uh..." Unable to think of an adequate excuse, Cas decided to tell the truth. "I came to put away the rag."

Mrs. Winchester looked at the paper in his hand. "What's that?"

"It is a drawing that Dean gave me."

She glanced at her husband, and he frowned. "Here, I'll take that," he said.

"Yes sir." Cas reluctantly gave up the paper. "I will go... finish polishing the china."

Mrs. Winchester nodded. "We're going to go to bed. Goodnight, Castiel."

"Goodnight."


	9. Promises

The next few days passed rather uneventfully, filled with Cas's normal duties, as well as making sure Dean took his medication, and looking after Sam and Dean when Mrs. Winchester went out to job interviews. Soon, Cas had nearly forgotten what he had overheard.

As usual, as soon as the front door closed, Sam and Dean ran to greet their father. This time, however, Mr. Winchester didn't sweep his two boys up into his arms to carry them back into the kitchen and give his wife a peck on the cheek. Instead, he wearily closed the front door. "Not now, boys."

Dean wrinkled his eyebrows. "Dad? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just... I need to talk to your mother. Why don't you both go upstairs and play for a bit longer before dinner."

"Ok, Daddy! Guess what me and Dean did today!"

"Not now, Sammy. Go upstairs as I asked."

Disappointed, Sam and Dean obediently turned and went up to the toy room where they resumed playing with their GI Joes. Cas, however, stayed quietly out of sight in the kitchen where he had been finishing cooking dinner. He knew he could get in a lot of trouble if he was caught eavesdropping, but they hadn't told _him_ to leave, so it wasn't _really_... Right?

"What is it, John? What happened?"

"Exactly what I was afraid of. I – I was laid off. You know the economy's been really hard and the company got hit really hard and then a customer sued us and, well..." He sighed.

"Well you've got a lot of money saved up, right? We can use that while you look for a job."

"Yes, but that won't last for long. And with birthdays coming soon… I don't know what we're going to do. There's just not a huge demand for mechanics anymore. So much is specialty or done by angels or machine."

"It'll be alright. And if it gets too tight... There's always what we talked about a while ago. About Castiel."

"Yes. But like you said, Dean is so attached to the angel, I'd hate to be the one to take his friend from him."

Mrs. Winchester sighed. "Let's eat. We can talk about this more later. Castiel!" She called.

Cas paused for a moment, and then went out to see what she needed. "Yes?"

"Go get Dean and Sam. It's time to eat."

Soon, the family was sitting around the table, quieter than normal.

"Dad, is everything ok?"

"Yes, Dean. Are you done with your dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Go upstairs and start getting ready for bed. Castiel will help Sammy. Your mother and I need to speak for a while."

"Ok. Come on, Sammy! I'll race you!" Reluctantly, Cas followed the two of them upstairs and started helping Sam with his pajamas and made sure he brushed his teeth. Sam was quickly done and in bed, so Cas went to check on Dean, who he found reading in his bed. Dean's head shot up when he heard Cas open the door, and he slammed the book shut and quickly shoved it under his pillow. "Cas! What are you doing in here?"

"I finished helping Sam and wanted to see if you needed any help."

"No, I'm fine," Dean said curtly.

"Dean? Are you alright?"

"I said I'm _fine_." Cas glanced at the corner of the book sticking out from under Dean's pillow, trying to hide his skepticism. He perched on the edge of the armchair in the corner of Dean's room. "Why are you still here, Cas?" Cas looked at the floor and started to stand up again. "No, wait! I didn't mean... I mean, you can stay if you want. I don't mind." Cas sat down again. "Something wrong, Cas? You're kinda quiet."

"I am always quiet. I would be in trouble if I wasn’t."

"You know what I mean. Quieter than normal." Cas shrugged. "Come on, you can tell me."

Cas took a breath. "I heard your parents talking and they were saying..." Cas shook his head. "No, it is nothing. I should not have told you. I shouldn’t have even been listening in the first place."

"Don't worry, Cas, I won't tell." He stayed silent. "Come on, _please_?"

Cas sighed. "They said there was not enough money so they are going to sell me."

Dean looked at him, shock written all over his face. "Cas..."

"I know. I am sorry, this is nothing. This happens all the time. I don’t know why I am telling you." He quickly stood up and walked towards the door.

"Wait!" Dean had swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up. Cas froze with the door halfway open and slowly turned to look at him. "Thanks for telling me, but don't worry, Cas. I won't let anything happen to you. If they sell you, I'll come and get you again, I promise!"

"Thank you, Dean." Cas looked at his hand still on the doorknob. "I should... I should go. Goodnight, Dean."

"G'night, Cas!" Dean flopped back onto his bed and pulled out the book from under his pillow. A Kids’ History of Angels and Other Creatures. Of course. Quietly, Cas closed the door the rest of the way so Dean could read in peace.

Instead of going to his room like he normally would have, Cas decided to take a risk, as he was going to be sold soon anyway. Slowly, he crept towards Mr. and Mrs. Winchester's room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Cas got up as normal to prepare Mr. Winchester's morning coffee, only to find him already up, sitting at the kitchen table with two other men. Cas froze for a moment, only to remember he wasn't supposed to know anything about the plans to sell him. Taking a deep breath, he took out three mugs and started filling them with the freshly brewed coffee, when Mr. Winchester stopped him. "There's no need. They're not staying. Come here."

Cas slowly put down the mugs and walked back to the table. "Yes, sir?"

Mr. Winchester nodded at the other men sitting at the table, who then stood up and walked quickly over to where Cas was standing. The first grabbed Cas's arms and forced them behind his back, while the other cuffed his arms together. A moment later, Cas's world went dark as a black sack was yanked over his head, and a tight, heavy collar was locked around his neck.

Cas heard Mr. Winchester's voice again. "You have the money, yes?"

Silence followed, presumably filled by the two men nodding, and they shoved Cas forward unceremoniously. A chair scraped against the hardwood floor as Mr. Winchester got up to walk the Traders to the door.

Suddenly the unexpected sound of footsteps on the stairs filled Cas's ears. "Dad? What's going on?" Cas heard Dean's sleepy voice say.

"Nothing. Go back to bed."

"Is that...?"

"I said go back to bed. That’s an order!"

"Cas? No! Dad, they can't take him! Don't let them take him!" Cas stumbled as the Traders pushed him towards the door. "He didn't do anything wrong! Let him go! Do something, Dad!"

"Go upstairs, Dean."

"No! I won't let them take him!"

Cas turned his head towards the sound of Dean's voice. "It’s okay, Dean, do as your father–" One of the Traders knocked the back of his head so he faced forward again. The step down from the house to the concrete walkway made Cas lose his footing.

"Cas! No! Please! CAS! I promise I'll–" But Dean's promise was cut off by the door slamming shut behind the Traders.


	10. Home

Cas had to remind himself that the new family he lived with wasn’t any worse than any of the others. Three kids, parents rarely home to raise the kids, plenty of money, semi-alcoholic father who constantly threatened beatings but only occasionally followed through. The only difference was Cas himself.

 

\---

 

In the second house, the man referred to Cas only as ‘angel’, and he soon began to wonder if the man was ever not drunk or high. He also soon learned that if he wanted food, he would have to sneak some in the few times the man was not in the kitchen as well.  It took a surprisingly long time for the man’s drug habits to dictate that he sell the angel.

 

\---

 

A pale, strict-looking woman came through the market that day, interrogating the Traders about the history and parentage of each angel and scratching down each identification number that caught her eye. It didn’t take long for her to come across number 91808 and to be impressed with his “soft history and good breeding”.

 

\---

 

When he arrived after a comparatively gentle transportation, he was immediately stripped and given tests and measurements of every kind, then given a shirt that was a bit too big, pants that were a bit too small, and a collar that was much too heavy. Some nights he would feel especially drowsy and wake up in the overly sterile room in the morning feeling different, more exposed, and not know why. He began to dread the sleepy feeling though he could do nothing about it.

 

\---

 

He lost all sense of time while he was there, knowing only that some angels came and went within weeks or months, while others stayed for much longer. The monotony and repetition soon erased all thought of any different life.

 

\---

 

He barely remembered his transport to the Home. Looking back, he realized he must have been drugged. The first day he was there, he was called to the Headmaster’s officer and was made to stand facing a wall. He was beaten until he bled as his number, 91808, was seared into his memory. The next day started the same, and the next, until he lost count. Eventually the beatings stopped, but delivering them wasn’t much easier. Refusing, however, was never an option for fear of being called back to the office. The days passed, filled with beatings, work, and the occasional meager meal.


	11. 91808

"Number 91808, report to the Headmaster's office, number 91808."

He nearly dropped his plate as his stomach filled with dread. _No_. But there was nothing he could do but obey. He reluctantly handed his food back to the servers and left the dining hall. Too soon, he found himself before the dreaded door and hesitantly knocked.

"Come in." He opened the door to see the Headmaster and another man. "Number 91808?" He nodded, silent. "This man has come to see you. He claims you know him?" He looked at the strange man and almost shook his head, when the man spoke.

"I told you I'd come get you, even 20 years late," the man said with a confident half smile that quickly faded when he saw that the angel still did not recognize him. "Cas? It's me. Dean." He paused. "You remember, cholera, hospital, dad lost his job, right? I promised--" His voice cracked. "I promised I would come and get you. And here I am! Coming to get you."

The angel stared at him for a moment. "Dean. Winchester."

"Yes! See!" He turned to the Headmaster with an elated smile. "I told you he would remember me!" Dean turned back towards the angel. "I'm going to get you home, Cas. Not a Home like this. I'm bringing you home. To my home."

The angel turned to the Headmaster for confirmation, which he gave with a nod. "Yes, it seems he's decided he likes you. Heaven knows why. Anyway, he's filled out all the paperwork and paid for you, so unless you've got something you want to get, you may leave."

The angel looked at the Headmaster, then at Dean. "Well?" Dean asked. "Do you have anything to get?"

"No." He wanted to leave every memory of this place behind. "Wait! Yes, there is." Quickly, he went upstairs to the small room he shared with nine other angels. He reached under his mattress, felt around for a moment, and found a piece of paper, which he then brought back downstairs to the nearly empty hallway where Dean was standing.

"What's that?" Dean asked. He handed him the piece of paper. "Some kid's drawing?"

The angel's stomach dropped once again. He did not remember. "You. You made this when you were in the hospital, and you gave it to me. I put it in my pocket the night before I left." He hung his head and turned away, embarrassed.

"Cas..." Dean's voice trailed off and he smiled. But the smile again faded when he caught sight of the bottom of the angel's neck which was crisscrossed with scars. "Oh, Cas, what did they do to you?" Dean whispered as he reached up and gently touched them. The angel flinched. Dean sighed. "Cas... Let's go home, ok?"

He nodded as strange, but not unpleasant, feeling started to spread through his body. It was warm and felt vaguely familiar, like a distant memory. Suddenly, he knew the word for it.

Cas was happy.


End file.
